Addictions
by Collie
Summary: Wat and Chaucer get on the subject of addictions.


  
  
  
TITLE: Addictions.   
AUTHOR: Collie.   
EAMIL: collie_@msn.com   
SUMMARY: Wat and Chaucer get on the subject of addictions.   
PAIRING: Wat/Chaucer.   
RATING: PG-13.   
SPOILERS: None. Made it up.   
FEEDBACK: I love it.   
DISTRIBUTION: Anyone who wants it, just ask.   
DISCLAIMER: None of it's mine 'cept that stuff that's not Brian Helgeland's.   
AUTHOR'S NOTE: AU. Made this up.   
DEDICATION: To my fabulous Stoners. Cheers.   
  
  
Will furrowed his brow and sighed, trying to dampen down his disappointment as he looked at his herald, sky-clad once more. Well, save the dusty blanket that was draped over his thin shoulders. This was the second time in a week the writer had been caught with his pants down, so to speak. He had promised Will and the others that his gambling problem would be kept in check, at least for the duration of the tournaments... but his addiction was clearly a bigger problem than they had anticipated. 

"They goaded me, Will," Geoff said, his blue eyes pleading with Will's brown. He wrapped skinny arms around himself, looking all for the world like a starving beggar. His old wounds had barely had time to heal, yet now here were fresh ones. Will's face softened as his eyes raked Geoff's battered form. He had no desire to loose this man. He was a fantastic herald and a good friend, but he was costing them too much. 

"If you'd any addictions yourself, you'd understand. To try and stop, it's like attempting to step outside of my body. It's the hardest thing to get away from. It will pull you and call to you, like the sweetest voice on the winds... and you've no choice but to answer its siren call..." 

"Cor blimey, would you cork that hole of yours? I reckon that's what got you into this spot in the first place, innit?" 

Geoff wrinkled his nose and glanced up, just in time to see Wat stalk into the tent, hair first. Will rolled his eyes, arms akimbo as he moved to address both Geoff and Wat, who'd moved up beside them and was glaring at Geoff like he'd just eaten the last berry and custard tart. 

"Wat, please - this isn't helping," said Will, raising a hand to massage his forehead, which was suddenly throbbing. 

"Well, neither is Master 'I-enjoy-being-starkers-so-much-I'll-gamble-away-all-of-our-money-just-so-they'll-take-me-clothes-too' over 'ere!" 

Geoff had had just about enough of Wat's constant badgering. He narrowed his eyes and straightened, mustering up as much dignity as a naked man in a dirty blanket could. He took a step towards Wat, leaning in closer to the redhead, "At least I provide a service to Will and earn my pay. All you do is eat, drink and 'fong' people." Geoff smirked, rolling his eyes, "What exactly is a 'fong', anyway? I like to believe I have a rather excellent command of proper English, and I'd bet money that 'fong' isn't a word at all, you dim, cheeky bastard." 

Wat bristled, his eyes widening. He sputtered, "What?! I'll show you who's... dim... cheeky... bastard?!" Will swallowed, taking a step back. Wat was shaking, his face having gone as red as his hair at Geoff's insult. Will was quite surprised himself. Usually the writer showed enormous restraint when it came to Wat, but apparently everyone had their breaking point. Will made a mental note to never insult the man's addiction. He took another step back as Wat continued his diatribe. 

"Bet money! Your betting... All your fault…" he balled his fists, "Pain..." he bared his teeth, "Lots of pain!" 

Wat leaped at Geoff, knocking him to the ground, straddling him. Geoff grunted in pain as he landed on his already sore back, gritting his teeth as a rather sharp rock dug into his lower ribs. He grappled with the wiry redhead, dodging his blows. It wasn't as difficult as one may think, as Wat's blows were often fueled by blind rage, and thus not too well-aimed, but one or two usually got past, and those hurt quite a bit. 

Wat suddenly found himself up heaved as Geoff bucked his hips, tossing the unsuspecting squire to the ground. He'd hardly time to acknowledge the fact that he no longer had the upper hand, when a fist smashed into his cheekbone. 

"Ow! Bugger!" 

Wat growled and clambered to his knees, pulling the herald up by his hair. Geoff followed suit, howling in pain, but still of mind to deliver a rather nasty jab to Wat's stomach. Wat grunted and doubled over a bit, but still retained hold on Geoff's hair. He righted himself once more and released his right hand, and had just reared it back to deliver a rather nasty right hook to Geoff's face, when Will's voice cut through the air. 

"ENOUGH!" he shouted. Geoff and Wat both twisted up to look at Will, who was fuming. They both regarded him for a moment, disorientated, then sprung apart, Wat muttering something akin to an apology, and Geoff scrambling for his blanket, which had fallen off in the ruckus. 

"If the two of you persist with this bickering any longer, I swear by my sword that you'll both be seeking new employment come dawn," Will said, his voice hard, "I will not abide this any longer. Your squabbles are petty, and only serve to create more discord. Roland and I will find other accommodations for tonight, and if by morning you have not at least agreed to disagree, I will be advertising for a new squire and herald." 

Will turned on his heel and walked out of the tent, yanking the flap down behind him as he did. Wat muttered a curse under his breath and slumped down on a crate, chin in his hands. Geoff regarded him for a moment, then turned and began rifling through the closest trunk. 

"Hoy, what are you doin', Chaucer?" Wat scrambled to his feet and slammed the lid of the trunk down, nearly taking off three of Geoff's ink-stained fingers. Geoff jumped back, snatching his hand away. He huffed, turning an exasperated stare at Wat. 

"I was looking for something to wear." 

"Not in my trunk you're not!" Wat exclaimed, turning to sit on the lid, "You'd just gamble them away, then, wouldn't you?" 

Geoff pursed his lips and dropped the blanket, folding his arms as he stood in front of Wat, completely naked. 

"Alright, then. I take it you'd prefer to spend the evening with me nude, is that it?" 

Wat's eyes raked Geoff's naked and battered body, then jumped to his feet, turning and throwing the trunk wide open once more. He blinked a few times, then stood back, gesturing to the trunk, "Right then. Have at it." 

Geoff smirked and half-bowed, plucking an old shirt and trousers from the trunk, "I thank you for your generosity, sir." 

Wat grunted in response, turning away from Geoff. Geoff gingerly slid the trousers up his bruised legs, wincing as the waistband grazed an abrasion, already scabbing over. 

"I'll have to track those gentlemen down before we leave this site," Geoff mused. Wat assumed he was referring to the men who 'liberated' Geoff of his clothing. 

"Aye? And why's that? So you can give them a notice as to where our next stop is, so they can just lay out a bin for you at the entrance to drop your clothes in as we arrive?" Wat sneered. 

Geoff shot him a withering glance, "No. They took my coat. The fawn-colored leather. I love that coat." 

Wat frowned, "Aye. It suits you," he said, watching as Geoff tied off the waistband. 

The writer threw him a capricious grin, "You think so?" 

Wat blinked quickly, then cleared his throat, crossing his arms across his chest, "Well it was all flamboyant and floppy, wasn't it?" 

Geoff just smiled, shaking his head. He bent over to pick up the shirt, crying out in pain as something in his skin felt like it split. He stood, shirt dangling from his fingers, his other hand searching out his lower back for the source of the pain. He found it in the form of a rather nasty-feeling gash along his lower ribcage. Pulling his fingers away, he noted the fresh blood and chuckled to himself, shaking his head. 

"Well, I'll just be washing up before I put anymore of your clothing on, Wat. Wouldn't want to ruin your day any further by soiling your things, now would I?" 

Wat rolled his eyes and stood, pointing at Geoff, then the trunk, "Oh, sit down, you insufferable git. I'll clean your bloody back." 

He stalked towards the tent flap, presumably to get some water, but stopped just short of the exit. He let out a chuckle, then turned back to Geoff, cocking a finger at him, "Bloody back. Get it? Because you back is... bloody…" 

Geoff laughed, in spite of himself, "Yes. Very humorous, Wat." 

Wat grinned and left, the tent flap fluttering in the slight breeze. Geoff's eyes lingered after him, the smile fading only slightly. He slowly lowered the trunk's lid and sat, gently, clasping his hands in his lap. He loved playing this game with Wat. While he didn't know what Wat's true intentions were - perhaps he really *did* just like pummeling Geoff for the sport of it - he continued to play, just the same. It was like a dance, in a way -- a rather verbally abusive and physically painful way. But, Geoff was a writer, and no writer can truly write what they do not experience… and Geoff wanted to experience the fire that was Squire Fawlehurst. 

Wat returned to find Geoff staring off, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip. He swallowed a bit at the sight, remembering the very first time they'd encountered Geoffrey Chaucer - nude, of course, trudging alone down an empty road. One moment stood out from all others - the site of Geoff, sitting casually on the side of the road, so comfortable in his own nudity, chewing on his lower lip. He looked so sure of himself, so confidant… and what did Wat do then? He threatened to fong him. It had become rather ingrained in Wat - to pummel Geoff every time he felt that twinge inside - the one he felt every time that bastard nibbled his lower lip. 

Wat huffed, stamping into the tent, rousing Geoff from his would-be daydream, "Ah, Wat. You've returned." 

"Aren't you the perceptive one. Must be a writer thing, 'eh?" Wat muttered, setting down a small bowl of water, and snatching the dirty blanket from the ground, tearing a bit off. 

Geoff's mouth slid into a roguish smile, "Oh, Wat - why must we fight? I've no care to take anymore beatings from you, friend," he cajoled, "William is right - it only serves to cause more discord." 

"Well maybe I like discord," Wat grumbled, dunking the small piece of cloth in the water and ringing it out. He repeated the action a few times, then grabbed a crate and set it down behind Geoff, seating himself directly behind the writer, applying the cold rag to his back. 

"Jesu! That's cold!" Geoff screeched, jumping slightly. Wat smirked a bit, taking a small pleasure in that. They sat in silence for a measure, Geoff relaxing a bit under Wat's ministrations. Strange how one's wounds don't trouble you as much when they're being tended to be a particularly feisty redhead. They sat in silence for several long minutes, Geoff enjoying the attention, and Wat trying very hard not to be *too* nice about it. Whenever he discovered himself worrying too much over one particular cut, he'd let out a grunt and drag the cloth over it, delighting a bit in Geoff's sudden twitch and hitch of breath. The shadows started to lengthen, and they knew twilight had fallen. Wat paused for a second and leaned down a bit, squinting his eyes in the dimming light. Geoff tensed, feeling Wat's warm breath on his back, near to where Wat was cleaning. 

"I can't see, anymore. It's getting' too dark. I need a candle." 

Geoff nodded, leaning over to William's trunk and grabbing a large beeswax candle and flint and steel. After a few tries and flying sparks, the wick was lit and a small flame flickered to life. The soft light reflected on the two men, and it would have appeared rather romantic - were it not these two men. 

"Geoff?" Wat asked, dunking the rag and ringing it out, slowly. 

"Yes, Wat?" 

"What exactly *is* it about gamblin' that keeps you going back? I mean, I know if I kept gettin' me coin and clothes stripped from me, I'd bloomin' well know when to quit." 

Geoff was silent for a moment as he contemplated, "I think, perhaps, it's the thrill of the game itself. Not necessarily the game of dice or cards, but the game of gambling itself. Gambling is nothing if *not* a game of chance. It's a skill. You must know the order of things, and how to read people. I suppose, being a writer, I keep going back because it's a challenge to myself. I missed something last time - can I remember it this time? I know I can beat the man I've beaten before, but can I beat the man I've never been pitted against? I don't know his moves or his tricks - and can I keep mine from showing? It's acting, as much as anything. It's also the anticipation and the adrenaline that comes from just not knowing… plus, winning doesn't hurt too much, either. One can always do with a bit more coin. Then again, that's just me as a greedy bugger, really," he said, chuckling a bit. 

Wat nodded, carefully wiping a bit of dirt from along Geoff's spine. He'd long since finished cleaning the cuts, but he couldn't bring himself to pull away. The action in and of itself was soothing. 

"I couldn't do it. All of the secreting and bein' calm and suchlike… I don't have much of a talent for keepin' low-key, you know," Wat said, admiring the subtle musculature of Geoff's back. 

"As I said, it is a skill," Geoff said, then leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, closing his eyes and letting out a long sigh, "I thank you for this, Wat. It was very kind of you." 

Wat cleared his throat, shrugging a bit, "No, uh… it's no bother." 

"Nonetheless… it's very soothing. I thank you, anyway." 

Wat made a noise, and Geoff chose to take it as a sound of welcome. This continued in silence for a few more minutes, Geoff concentrating on the wonderful feeling of Wat's careful hands on his back, the act of being tended to, the warm water and caress of the cloth under Wat's hands and the slight pain whenever Wat brushed a cut, all rather sensual to him. The thought occurred to him that he'd best initiate the conversation once again, lest he turn around and maul the boy. 

"Wat," Geoff inquired, suddenly, shifting a bit as Wat hit a particularly sensitive area on his back, "While we're on the subject of addictions, why *do* you feel the need to 'fong' me constantly? You don't hit anyone else nearly as often as you hit me." Geoff paused a moment, ticking some things off in his head, "As a matter of fact, you *don't* hit anyone besides me." 

Wat paused in his nursing, absently running the forgotten bit of cloth along Geoff's right shoulder blade, which protruded quite nicely, "Well, you deserve it more than anyone else, don't you?" 

Geoff chuckled quietly, the action causing his shoulder muscles to hitch a bit. For some reason, watching that, Wat felt a strong desire to hit him again. That confused the poor boy. 'Why would watchin' his shoulders move make me want to fong him? What the buggering hell is it about him that makes me want to smash him so much?' Geoff turned just then, his profile outlined nicely by the faint candlelight, that light being just enough to reflect off of his amazingly blue eyes. 

'His amazingly blue eyes?!' 

Wat squeaked, yanking his hand away from Geoff's back, eyes wide with realization. Geoff was still for a moment, then tilted his head in confusion. 

"Wat? Everything alright?" 

"Oh blast.." Wat muttered, dropping his head into his hands, wet cloth and all. 

Geoff turned halfway around on the trunk, regarding Wat, "What is it?" 

Wat sighed, then jumped up, pacing the floor, "You want to know why I fong you so much, Chaucer?" 

Geoff smiled slightly, watching Wat pace as though trying to dig a furrow into the ground, "Yes, Master Fawlehurst - I would dearly love to know why." 

Wat stopped, turning to Geoff. He looked like a man facing his own execution, "Because…" He threw up his hands, his words rushing out in a torrent, "Because when I hit you, I can touch you without feeling like a complete and utter poofter. That's why." 

Geoff regarded Wat for a moment, then stood, walking to Wat and stopping right in front of him, "And why would you feel like that, Wat? I don't feel like that when I touch you. As a matter of fact, when I touch you, I feel something completely different…" Geoff grinned salaciously, clasping his hands behind his back. 

Wat faltered, eyebrows shooting up into his hairline, "But, you hate me." 

"And you hate me." 

"But…" 

"…that would make for one hell of a time, don't you think, Wat?" 

I…" 

"No, just… *don't* think, Wat." 

Geoff unclasped his hands and grabbed Wat by the shoulders, kissing him hard on the mouth. Wat squeaked in protest, grabbing Geoff by the elbows to try and push him away. Imagine his surprise when he pulled Geoff closer. After a moment, Geoff pulled back, a half-smile lighting his face in the dim light. 

"See? Wasn't that better than hitting me?" 

Wat pondered, then grinned, "Well…" 

Geoff just laughed and kissed him again, "I think our young Lord Ulrich will be quite pleased in the morning, don't you?" 

"I don't know… this might be worse than the fonging." 

Geoff grinned, "Then perhaps we can introduce him to our way of thinking." 

Wat snickered, shaking his head, "I won't say the thought hasn't crossed my mind. 'Course, when it did, I found a pub and got right sloshed, then picked a fight with him… but I think we've found a better way to dampen my, uh… urges… I guess he'll have no choice but to accept it. If he doesn't, I'll -" 

"Yes, yes - fong him." 

Wat nodded, smiling. 

"Just, not *too* hard… I might get jealous." 

Wat blushed a bit, then sat back down on the crate, gesturing to Geoff to take his earlier position, "Now, what to do about your gamblin'…" 

Geoff shrugged, "I guess you'll just have to keep me occupied, so my mind doesn't wander to other things. What do you say?" 

Wat grinned, resuming his nursing, "I say we've just found a new addiction, Master Chaucer." 

  
  
  
  
END. 


End file.
